


all you ever did was wreck me

by supernope



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:04:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis fuck in the bathroom during the end of tour party in Japan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all you ever did was wreck me

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for using Miley Cyrus lyrics as the title. SHAMLESS. Awful. Horrendous. Anyway, this is weird, but Harry in those SHORTS, he was literally begging for it o k a y.
> 
> Thank you to McKenzie and Sarah for the betas! ♥
> 
> I should not have to ask this, but PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST MY FIC ANYWHERE. If I find out that my fic has been re-posted to any site, I will report that person to the site for plagiarism, whether credit was given to me or not.

So, Harry might be a bit drunk.

He’s three cocktails in, and the sugar is swimming through his veins and behind his eyes so that everything in the dimly lit club is glowing, pulsating gently with the beat of the music pounding through the speakers. He’d lost Louis immediately upon leaving the hotel, but they’d known it would be like this, are used to it at this point. So he’s been dancing with Gemma and Lou, Cal, and even Niall at one point, drinking whatever cocktail gets pushed into his hand without questioning it in anticipation of passing out the moment they get settled on the plane that will take them home.

Harry shakes his booty at Lou, giggling when she pulls a face and makes a show of turning away to shimmy at Gemma. He finishes his cocktail – something bright purple with a raspberry floating in it – in one swallow, then turns to find a place to set the glass down, picks absently at the tape on his chest as he drifts over toward the VIP toilets. He sets the foam finger down on a table beside the door, doesn’t really fancy finding a place to set it down inside, then pushes into the bathroom. It’s quiet in there, the music muted to a vague thumping bass, and Harry stares dazedly around the small room before moving over to the sink to fiddle with his hair, pluck at the waistband of the shorts he’d bought in Australia in anticipation of their Halloween party. He’s rather pleased with his costume, he thinks, touching a finger to the little x’s Louis had taped to his chest. He’s got nice pecs, but they’re not quite big enough to fill a bikini top.

Harry has just washed his hands, is poking at one of the buns Louis had given him back at their hotel with damp fingers when the door swings open. Music spills into the room, and Harry grins, twisting around. “Oops. I guess I forgot to lock the door.”

Louis is standing in the doorway, face paint already smudged with sweat and hair done up in a messy quiff as he stares at Harry.

Harry cocks his head. “Did you need the toilet?”

Louis just shakes his head no and steps inside so the door can swing shut, blocking out the music once more, then makes a show of locking it. The click of the lock is loud in the quiet room, reverberating off the tiled walls.

“Oh.” Harry swallows, suddenly feeling a lot more sober. Louis’ eyes are dark in the over-bright room, and the face paint is a bit ridiculous, but he’s wearing his extra tight jeans and the paint around his mouth is smeared from cocktail glasses, and even though he’s spent the last few hours dancing innocently with Zayn, he already looks a bit debauched. Jealousy and lust pool in Harry’s belly, and he drops a hand unconsciously to palm himself through his shorts.

Louis takes a step closer, eyes locked on Harry’s hand where it’s pressed against his dick, and says, “We have one hour before we need to leave for the airport.”

Harry leans back against the sink and spreads his legs, curls his hand around his hardening cock and pitches his voice low when he says, “Better make the most of it, then.”

Louis lets out a little growl before closing the space between them. He pushes Harry’s hand away from his dick so that he can crowd in against him and whispers, “Mine,” before lifting up onto his toes and tugging Harry down into a kiss. His face is greasy with paint and his lips taste a little waxy, but Harry just grips Louis’ hips and opens up, spreads his legs so Louis can step between them and grinds their hips together. He can feel the bassline from the music pounding in his chest, his wrists, the pit of his stomach, until his heart is pounding along with it, dick throbbing with every beat.

“Hey.” He pulls back a bit, already flushed and breathless, and slides a hand around, taps his fingers against something in Louis’ pocket. “Is that your phone, or are you just happy to see me?”

Louis rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth hitches up into a smile as he takes a step back and digs into the pocket, pulls out a little packet of lube. He shrugs and says, “I figured we wouldn’t have time before we had to leave, and I wanted to fuck you up a bit in your costume.”

He reaches a hand out, drags a finger down the underside of Harry’s cock where it’s pressing against the fabric of his shorts. Harry shivers at his words and the feather-light touch, hips twitching forward automatically in search of pressure.

“Turn around,” Louis orders, voice raspy and slow.

Harry swallows thickly and does as Louis said, turns to face the mirror and waits for him to make a move. He’s got black paint smudged across his own mouth and white along his jaw, has a bit of it up near his hairline, as well, and thinks vaguely that it’s going to be a pain in the arse to clean it off later.

His thoughts scatter when the tips of Louis’s fingers ghost over the jut of his shoulder blades, and he watches Louis’ face in the glass, watches his eyes rove over his back and down past his waist, nylon stretched tight across his bum and thighs. Anticipation curls in his gut when Louis shuffles in and drapes himself over his back, slides a hand around to palm him through the shorts. Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he pushes against Louis’ hand, heat seeping through the fabric, but the moment he tries to rut against him, Louis pulls his hand away. Harry whimpers.

“Bend over,” Louis whispers in his ear, and a shiver ripples down Harry’s spine as he moves to obey, curling down over the cold porcelain of the sink and pushing his bum back against Louis’ crotch. He can feel Louis’ dick, hard in his jeans, before he inches back and tucks his hands into the waist of the shorts, tugs them halfway down his thighs, then leaves them there.

“Louis, I –“ Harry’s words die in his throat when Louis disappears, dropping to his knees behind him. He barely has a moment to gather his thoughts before he feels two hands on his bum, spreading him apart, and then the flat of Louis’ tongue is stroking over his hole, and Harry’s entire body shivers with the feel of it. He drops his head between his shoulders so he can bury his hands in his own hair and grip tight as Louis licks at him for what feels like hours, little kitten licks and long, teasing strokes that have Harry gasping, his thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself up.

Louis teases him with the point of his tongue, opening him up slowly so he can slide a finger in alongside it until Harry is moaning and squirming back, desperate for more. Instead of giving it to him, though, Louis pulls back with a light smack to Harry’s arse and then stands back up. Still trembling, Harry raises his head, fingers uncurling from his ruined hair, and watches Louis tear the lube packet open in the mirror and spread half of it on his fingers, hisses when one of Louis’ hands settles in the small of his back and a finger brushes over his hole. His stomach clenches in anticipation, desperately ready for more, and he turns his head so he can sink his teeth into his bicep when Louis works one finger in, agonizingly slowly.

He’s already so hard it hurts, the edge of the sink digging into his stomach doing nothing to stave off the sharp curl of arousal, but when he drops one hand to grip his cock, Louis pushes it away and says, “No, not yet.”

Harry shudders and lets out a weak whimper, but lifts his hand to grip the edge of the sink so he won’t be tempted to touch himself again, buries his face in the crook of his elbow while Louis works him open hard and fast. “Louis, please,” he whispers, pushing back against Louis’ hand and lifting his head to look at Louis in the mirror. His eyes are half-closed, lips parted as he stares down at his hand, and he takes another moment to twist three fingers inside of Harry before pulling them out and making quick work of his jeans.

He only manages to get them down around his knees before he’s reaching for the lube packet to slick himself up, doesn’t waste any time before gripping Harry’s hips with sticky hands and pushing inside in one long thrust. Harry groans, the sound echoing off the curve of the sink basin, and drops his head, tightens his grip on the corners of it as Louis snaps his hips forward. It takes all of his concentration not to come just from the drag of Louis’ cock inside of him, so when Louis’ hand closes around one of the buns in his hair, already loose from Harry’s hands, and tugs his head back, it sends a surprised shock of arousal down his spine, cock twitching against his belly at the pull on his scalp.

He slits his eyes open and watches Louis in the mirror – watches Louis’ fingers flex in his hair, the pretty flush spreading down his throat, the messy smear of makeup covering his face, the way his quiff has fallen and his fringe is sticking to his temples and forehead from a combination of sweat and face paint. He looks an absolute mess, but his eyes are dark, glittering under the fluorescent lights as he stares at Harry in the mirror, and his biceps are flexing with every twitch of his hips, lips parted as he pants out into the quiet room, rhythm faltering tellingly as he chases his orgasm. Harry sharpens his focus on Louis’ face in anticipation, frowns and turns his head to look back at Louis when he pulls out abruptly. He’s just about to ask why when he sees Louis’ hand wrap around his dick, and then he’s spilling over his knuckles and onto Harry’s back.

Harry moans, eyes falling shut as Louis drags a trembling hand through the come painting his back, smearing it into his skin and down over his bum. Then Louis is closing his hand around Harry’s hip and turning him around, and Harry leans back against the sink for support, watches Louis with wide eyes as he drops down onto his knees, wraps a slick hand around the base of Harry’s cock, and swallows him down. He’s already so wound up that all it takes is the flutter of Louis’ lashes, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks, and the head of his cock hitting the back of Louis’ throat, and Harry’s coming with a gasp, hands gripping tight around the ledge of the sink as Louis sucks him through it.

Louis doesn’t let go until Harry is whimpering and trying to shy away, shuffles back a few inches, then sags back onto his heels and pushes a sticky hand through his hair. Harry laughs weakly at the face Louis makes, the sink the only thing still holding him up. All he wants to do is stretch out on the floor and let the tiles cool his overheated skin, but they still have about twenty minutes before they need to leave for the airport, and he would rather shower. He bends over, his bum and the small of his back aching from being bent over the sink for so long, and tugs the shorts back up over his hips without bothering to wipe himself down first. It feels a bit naughty, anyway, like a heady little secret, a branding mark like the L-shaped tattoo that rides high on the inside of his thigh – there for only him and Louis to know about.

The corners of Louis’ mouth twitch up into a smile as he straightens up onto his knees to tug his own trousers back up. “Filthy,” he mutters, but then he shuffles forward so he can bury his face against Harry’s belly, arms wrapped around the tops of his thighs. Harry plays absently with Louis’ hair while they take a moment to just slow down and breathe each other in, and then Louis is pushing unsteadily to his feet and drilling a finger into Harry’s belly. “Come on, dirty boy. Let’s go get cleaned up.”

Harry grabs a paper towel so he can get as much face paint off before they step back out into the club, studies himself critically in the mirror. “Think these shorts might be ruined,” he hums, poking at a damp spot near his hip. “Shame, I rather liked them.”

“We’ll sort it out,” Louis says from over by the door. His eyes are bright, twinkling with amusement when he adds, “Keep them. I like them on you.”

“Yeah?” Harry laughs, ignoring the way his muscles are protesting with every step as they emerge back out into the VIP area. The only people left are Zayn, Liam, and Paul, who just roll their eyes and go back to their drinks and conversation. “Who wore it better, me or Miley?”

Louis reaches out to squeeze Harry’s hip, one last touch before they have to separate for the drive back to the hotel. “Definitely you.”

 

It’s still dark out when the car arrives at the airport, the sky a hazy, purplish bruise from all of the light pollution. It’s early enough that the airport is relatively empty, and Harry doesn’t even try to mask the way he’s hobbling a bit, sore from his little escapade with Louis in the toilet. _Sexcapade_ , he thinks, giggling a little. Niall gives him a weird look, and Harry just sticks his tongue out at him, laughs at the face Niall pulls in return before shifting closer to Louis again. He’s going to have bruises on his hips, he’s almost sure of it, and the drive from the hotel had been torture, so that even his thighs ache now from holding himself so stiff every time they moved over a bump in the road.

“Baby,” Louis croons, squeezing his hip as they move quietly through security.  His limp must be more obvious than he thought.

Harry scowls at him. “Couldn’t’ve thought of a better way to get off before a twelve hour flight, could you?”

Louis shrugs, the picture of innocence, as he takes Harry’s coat from his hands and tucks it into a bin for the x-ray machines. “Wasn’t really thinking with me head, was I? ‘S alright, we’ll lie down instead. I’ll even let you pick the music this time.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he has to hide a smile in his shoulder as he queues up behind Liam for the metal detectors. Louis hates most of his music.

They get to the gate just in time to board, and Harry winces as he sits down, trying to find a more comfortable position until he can lean his seat back. He’s shifting his weight from one hip to the other when Louis drops into the seat beside him and offers him a bunched up hoodie. Harry stares down at it blankly. “Thanks, Lou, but I’m not cold?”

Louis sighs and slides a hand down Harry’s back. “No, lean forward and toward me.”

He tucks the hoodie up under Harry’s left thigh, so that his weight is resting on the right without having to lean much, and Harry sighs in relief, tips his head back against the seat. “I hate you,” he mutters to Louis, and Louis buries a snicker in his shoulder, one hand sneaking down to curve around the inside of Harry’s thigh and squeeze.

He lifts his head and presses his mouth to Harry’s ear, lips dragging against the shell of it so that goosebumps ripple across his skin when he whispers, “I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

Harry turns to look at him, watches dazedly as Louis licks his lips, slow and deliberate. Harry swallows thickly and nods, eyes still locked on Louis’ lips as he thinks about that mouth on other parts of his body again. “Yeah,” he mumbles, voice gone blurry. “That might help.”

Louis winks at him, then turns to catch the attention of a stewardess. “Miss, do you think it’ll be alright if my friend here reclines his seat? He hurt his back today, it’s very painful for him to sit up.”

Harry flushes with embarrassment when the stewardess offers him a sympathetic smile and says, “I’m sorry, but we’ll be taking off very shortly.”

Louis shrugs at Harry, mouths _I tried._ Harry just smiles at him, leans over so he can brush a kiss across his cheek. “’S okay.” He drops his gaze to Louis’ mouth and shifts against the bunched up hoodie, already anticipating the end of the flight, getting home. “I can wait.”

 

_\- fin -_


End file.
